Odds and Ends
by Gaerdir
Summary: An ongoing collection of one-shots and drabbles that may or may not be expanded into more complete stories.
1. Arisen From the Dead

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**Odds and Ends**

**Arisen From the Dead**

_By Gaerdir_

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"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few." - Winston Chuchill

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A warning red flare shot through the cold, unforgiving air of Azkaban. The grey, overcast skies cast a gloom upon the island that had never once been removed, not even when its most faithful guardians left its shores to follow a half-blood master.

The grizzled Auror, who had tensed at the dreaded signal, grunted at the smug aura he could feel radiating from his younger protégé.

"Well, Mad-Eye? Is there anything you would like to say?" The young woman asked cheekily.

"I didn't say you were right, Tonks, not yet."

"You didn't say I was wrong, either, old man. And that signal just confirmed my victory."

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody sighed and forked over a sizeable stack of Galleons. Tonks smiled victoriously as she pocketed them and began to twirl her wand. Alastor sighed again.

"How was I supposed to know Voldemort would attack in the morning and be all flashy? It's tactically sound to attack in the cover of darkness!" He barked in frustration.

"Know thy enemy, Moody. That's why I won. How else is he going to stamp his authority in the Wizarding World? He's gotta take on Magical Britain in broad daylight… and win, too."

XXX

A tall, skeletal man, clad in dark robes the color of midnight, stood on the rocky, barren shores of the wizarding prison. He sneered as he extended his magical senses outwards.

"Lucius, tell the men to prepare for some meager resistance. I can sense some company, regardless of how well-damped they may be." Voldemort coldly ordered, before striding towards the ominous building in the distance. "Severus, with me."

The potions master quickly followed after his master, his opaque black eyes guarding against any intrusion into his racing thoughts. Voldemort already knew of the presence of a spy in his ranks, and now of the Order's presence, but he hadn't faltered for even a minute. It was like he was ignoring a particularly bothersome fly.

Snape frowned. This didn't sit well with him at all.

XXX

Order members swallowed their fear and organized themselves into the formations that Dumbledore had described. They were ready to defend Azkaban, as it was not only the prison to their most feared criminals, but also, it was a symbol of justice in Magical Britain, and seeing it fall would be detrimental to morale.

Albus Dumbledore oversaw the proceedings sadly, knowing that no matter the size of the efforts, the war had ended three years ago, in an abandoned graveyard, where magic of the most obscure had been performed. He sighed morosely, before suddenly whipping around and staring at a far off speck in the sky.

"What is it, Albus?" Sirius Black asked worriedly, his eyes too alighting on the steadily-growing speck.

"I do not know, Sirius. But he is of immense magical power."

The other members quickly caught on to the two senior leaders' hidden tension, and also quickly focused on the person flying towards them, quickly beginning to finger their wands.

The man jumped off his broom and flipped in mid air, shrinking his Firebolt and stowing it away. He landed confidently in a half-crouch, looking warily at the wands pointed at him.

"Woah. Woah, guys calm down!" The man said as he made a sudden movement with his hands.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" Sirius ordered roughly as a warning spell shot out of his wand. "Now tell me… who the fuck are you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you… Sirius." The man said calmly, before turning and facing the aged leader of the forces. "My name, the Order of the Phoenix, is Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Once again, I guess."

Strong, sure hands reached up and grasped the edge of the thick hood shadowing the man's face. The edge was slowly pulled away.

Piercing, green eyes revealed themselves, glinting mischievously, as also did a lightning bolt scar.

XXX

Voldemort continued to stride towards his goal, before coming slowly to a stop.

His magic and wand cried out to him, trying to make him recognize what he had encountered. His senses went into overdrive as he struggled to process the sight before him.

In front of him stood a cloaked and hooded enemy he thought long gone in the summer of 1995. How had he arisen from the dead?

The figure chuckled darkly, lifting his hood away. "Guess I've been discovered then. Good to see you, Voldemort."

At Voldemort's answering sneer, the boy, no, man lifted his wand and got into a dueling stance.

"Ready to dance, Tom?" Harry said mockingly.

"It's been three years, Potter. Are you sure _you're_ ready?" Voldemort replied, before settling into his own crouch.

The two beings, representatives of the eternal clash of Light and Dark, snarled and leapt at each other, meeting in a burst of sparks and sound.

XXX

Tonks ducked and whirled, her mind still abuzz with the possibility of Harry bloody Potter being alive all these years. She chanced a glance over to where he had confronted the Dark Lord, and was stunned at what she saw. The 17 year old boy wonder was going toe to toe with the most dangerous Dark Wizard in the history of Magical Britain!

"Duck, lassie!" Her mentor's shout came suddenly, and she instinctively reacted, the Bone Breaker Curse just barely brushing her bright pink hair.

She nodded in thanks before refocusing on her battle, mentally thanking the gods that Dumbledore was free to assist them while Voldemort was being so masterfully handled.

Perhaps the Dark Lord's gamble would not pay off.

XXX

Voldemort snarled in frustration. The brat was keeping up with him, not giving an inch, and not allowing the Dark Lord to take a step closer to the prison. He could see Dumbledore and his Order decimating his remaining followers. Voldemort could not believe it, but his plan had gotten skewed with the boy's arrival, and he was being beaten back.

It was time to order a tactical retreat, and return to fight another day.

He pushed Harry back, and then took the chance to activate his special portkey that would smash through the wards and take him back to Malfoy Manor. He had been beaten, and he now had to lick his wounds. But he would come back stronger.

He was unprepared, that's why Potter could hold him off, that's all.

Dumbledore looked on in disbelief as Voldemort fled from Harry, taking the few Death Eaters still free with him. Such a growth in potential and power as seen in Harry was unprecedented. He could not even begin to guess at how Harry grew into such power.

The Order stood in stunned silence, before realizing that they had won, and had given themselves more time to defeat Voldemort.

"You saved a lot of lives today, Harry." Dumbledore said warmly. "You should be proud."

"Everyone fought well, Dumbledore. The credit does not only go to me. The people of Britain owe their lives to the Order as well."

Dumbledore hesitated. "Well, my dear boy, would you mind me asking –"

"– where I've been all this time?" Harry interrupted. "All in due time, Headmaster. All in due time. I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Harry lifted a hand, and erupted into a column of flames, leaving the area with a last nod to a bewildered Sirius.

The Order gasped at the display of power.

Albus smiled joyfully.

So Harry had found a phoenix? That began to explain where his growth had come from.

But for all purposes, Harry James Potter was dead. The goblins recognized it. A will had been released from Gringotts. His magical monitoring instruments had indicated that he was dead. But now, Albus had seen him in the flesh-and-blood.

Just what was going on?

How had Harry arisen from the dead?

_**FIN**_


	2. Vanishing Victory

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**DAILY PROPHET**

**SPECIAL EDITION**

**Vanishing Victory**

_By Gaerdir Tanthaldal, Special Correspondent_

Valor. Pride. Chivalry. Daring.

All exceptional qualities of a true Gryffindor.

But nobody can be perfect. Everyone has a fault. When you have a lot of good qualities, you are almost honor-bound to have a bad one.

Take Harry Potter, for instance. I'm sure all of us "old people" remember him quite well. I only wish our children had the same respect for legends…

He embodies the traits of a true Gryffindor. He was single-handedly the bravest student in his graduating batch, and also the most powerful wizard the world has ever seen.

But he has a temper not dissimilar to a volcano.

He is a calamity waiting to erupt, slowly simmering and building with a vengeance for that final, glorious explosion of death and destruction.

Oh, and what a glorious sight it is! Take the word of someone who has seen it in person. Those of you who were at Hogwarts that night oh so many years ago, you will know exactly what I'm talking about.

He transforms from an unassuming young man to a veritable warrior, roaring with rage, ready to take on anyone displaying the slightest aggression, his golden aura becoming slightly visible. If he's pushed too far (as Voldemort found out the hard way), his very _magic _springs to life, swirling in angry whirlpools around his body. Unwary passerby and random objects get caught in unnatural wind, stumbling and getting hurled around. His very _presence _makes the warier people fall to their knees.

His skin appears to glow with an inner light. His unruly black hair seems to sway with an unfelt breeze. His crimson scar, that very famous symbol behind which hundreds rallied, glows golden, and his eyes are alight with power, his very gaze scanning your soul.

Harry Potter, in that one moment, seems to transcend the barriers of wizardkind, evolving to some sort of higher being, ready to pass judgment on us all.

Voldemort never stood a chance all those years ago when Potter was consumed by his rage.

The Blood War ended rather anti-climatically. Voldemort was killed off in the first few minutes of battle, and we defenders routed the invading army rather thoroughly. Harry Potter was a symbol of power in the first couple of years that followed the underwhelming victory. His friends found themselves quickly promoted to positions of power, and the Ministry began to restructure itself. Bills to halt the decay of our stagnating society were quickly pushed through by a frantic then-Hermione Granger, while her fiancé Ron Weasley took the reins of a crumbled government to become Britain's youngest ever Minister. Why? When he was so young? There simply was no other better candidate.

But the wizard that allowed all those miraculous events to happen?

He simply retired, staying as far away from public view as possible. He claimed to be someone who functioned well in war, not in peace. The only people who knew how to contact him were the Minister and his Undersecretary.

The years passed. Our society entered into a brand new period of development and growth. We had shut off all contact with foreign Ministries, citing internal affairs, and restructured the entire system. Hogwarts curriculum was overhauled, an elementary school (The Lily Potter Institute) was established for younger Muggleborn children, and magical creatures were given a minority representation in the government. Personal rights were redefined and the social order broken down and rewritten. Our country was being unmade and rebuilt.

The newly christened British Isle of Magic threw open its doors to the anxious Wizarding World ten years later, shocking and stunning the many foreign tourists who came rushing in. It was as if while the world waited, decades of years had passed within our borders, as we boasted of the highest end Muggle technology altered to run on magic. Our society had reached heights never seen before in the integration of Muggle and magical culture. We were the toast of the entire international community.

More years passed. Harry Potter became an elusive legend, the kind that our children listen to our tales about, but don't ever believe ("Why isn't he here, Papa? Why did he run away? He can't be too powerful if he ran away!"). Hermione Weasley eventually retired to help take care of her newborn grandchildren, and her husband followed shortly after, deciding that his role was completed after twenty five years of serving the country. He retired gracefully, regarded as the greatest Minister for Magic Britain had ever had.

_But we know all this, Gaerdir! _I can hear you say. _Why are you telling us this?_

My dear readers, you may also know that one of the first bills that Minister Weasley passed, as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Minister for Magic, was the Freedom of Press Act. The Daily Prophet was no longer obligated to act as the mouthpiece for the Ministry; it was free to do as it wished. The one stipulation in the bill was that a council of elected, highly powerful wizards and witches maintained executive control of the paper. The Headmaster/Headmistress of Hogwarts would act in joint authority with the Principal of the LPI in ensuring the autonomy of the council.

Also, most importantly, this particular bill could not be repealed after ten years in successful action. It has been twenty seven years, and not a single, viable complaint has entered the honorable doors of the Wizengamot. The bill is here to stay.

So far, I have summarized the most important part of our community's history. British Wizarding Society as it is today owes almost its entire existence to a single man. We were on the brink of destruction when said man removed the shroud of darkness, and his friends banished it forever. Now, the next generation has begun taking over the important roles in our society. The era of old war heroes is over.

I have also told you that the press is now autonomous. We are free to make our decisions, opinions and findings known to the general public. This all has been done to ensure you can appreciate the work done, and realize just how far Britain has come. It has also been done to assure you of the claims to come.

Those few, powerful wizards and witches, who form the council of the Daily Prophet, have decided that it is time for the public to know the truth.

The more astute of you might feel dread creeping in. You might already be guessing at the truth I will be revealing. Yes… it is as bad as you think it is.

It has been twenty eight long years since the defeat of the Pureblood Movement. The same victors of that short, violent war overhauled our complete society in a bid to rid us British wizards and witches of the plague that has claimed us since the birth of our corrupt culture. They were largely successful, eliminating the dogma of pureblood superiority from the legal parts of the society. They showed us what Muggle technology could do for us, and how regressive we were compared to the rest of the world. Perhaps we were the seat of Magic. Maybe we did boast of the world's most powerful wizards and witches. But that didn't excuse us from not progressing!

Our leaders found a vaccine, and applied it effectively on our community. Since most of the population was either young and impressionable, or old and weary, the method had an almost perfect record. There were a few dangerous elements to society that, through one of Hermione Weasley's ground breaking bills, could be punished and isolated if enough incriminating evidence was found. What about the enemies who were the same age as our leaders? We thought them muzzled, and that society was safe from the more dangerous internal influences.

We underestimated our enemy's cunning. Have you readers ever heard the saying "An animal is far more dangerous when backed into a corner. It will fight viciously, and to the death."? The erstwhile leaders of the Pureblood Movement moved into the darkness of our society, where not even the tenacious Weasleys could reach. And from there, they began to plot the eventual destruction of the new regime.

But any man would be hard-pressed to deny the respect that has been bestowed upon the British Isle of Magic, not only for its place at the pinnacle of magic-muggle integration, but also for the open mind present in almost all of its denizens. Slowly, the goals of our foes began to change. They sought power, not destruction. And where else to find it, but at the seat of our government? If they managed to put one of their own into power, then they could enjoy all the benefits of being the controlling power of the greatest magical superpower.

Their long term goal? Infiltrating foreign governments and slowly condition the world into accepting pureblood superiority. If they had to suffer the luxurious comforts of Muggle inventions, so be it.

The puppeteers themselves didn't dare take stage in the dastardly plot. If they showed their faces, they knew that the game would be up. Their children, grandchildren, nephews, wards, nieces, anyone they could turn to their side played the part of their pawns. They rooted themselves deeply into the Ministry network, serving as an important constituent of the still-growing Ministry. They slowly gained influence and began to control the Wizengamot. Their organization had a presence from the grassroots. It had evolved into a gargantuan monster, hidden thinly by the dark, dark shadows of our world.

They planted suggestive evidence of embezzlement of funds in the Ministry's books, which they then prepared to unveil to the Wizengamot very publicly. A member of their own council quickly voiced reservations, believing that the public support of the "accused" would be a major obstacle. Quickly agreeing, other members directed their men to strong-arm Undersecretary Hermione Weasley into resigning and keeping her silence. A single witch with no actual political power could not do much against such odds, even if she had public support and the intelligence of ten of her opponents. Regardless, on being threatened with the health and safety of her family, she caved.

And so, the first of the truths hidden from you has been revealed.

After this successful step in their master plan, the organization next targeted the biggest scalp of all: Minister Ronald Weasley. This plan was much simpler, and wouldn't need much coaxing. One of their esteemed members was the disciple, and marked successor, to the Minister himself. Weasley had already revealed to the man that he was going to retire soon, seeing that his wife had left office. A small push in the Wizengamot, and a motion was passed to replace Ronald Weasley. In a last passionate speech on the dais, never to be published for the public, Minister Weasley made a winning case for his student, who was then elected the next Minister, and then he promptly left the office, packing up quite cheerily. He told the press that he retired, to save face for his student, and then left to live a quiet life, ignorant of the underhanded machinations in the shadows he couldn't see.

That's right, my readers, Harold Longbottom is not the man you think he is.

The organization in question had successfully infiltrated the highest order of establishment in our country three years ago. They began to send out members to become citizens of other countries, ready to spread the poison. It was a plan that would take decades to complete. And it was a plan they were willing to go through with.

_Yes, that's all well and good Gaerdir, but you haven't explained how _**you **_know all this!_ You are probably thinking. _Explain that, instead of all these secrets!_

The council of the Daily Prophet used to go by another name… The Order of the Phoenix.

You probably recognize this name. It was the vigilante group led by the late Albus Dumbledore which counterattacked Voldemort in the older Terror War, and provided a brief respite in the Blood War. Harry Potter didn't retire as soon as he came back from the end of the Blood War. He knew the dangers that still existed in our world, and tried to create failsafe measures against the possibility of a regression. We are but one of them. He restarted the organization and reestablished parameters and goals.

The council was created with the sole purpose of monitoring society. That is why we are never in danger of being infiltrated. We know exactly who votes for whom, and how our members are elected. We are probably the first every magical spy organization. We have tabs on every suspicious element in society. We watch prospective troublemakers, and we make it our business to know what is going on. You do not know who we are, what we are, or where we are. There is no risk in revealing our existence. We know all and we see all. That's what makes us the best exterminators for the pests that have returned. We are now ready to make our final move.

Potter was prepared for this outcome 28 years ago. He has more aces up his sleeve waiting to get the jump on an unsuspecting enemy. The organization, the Magus Illuminati, obviously still considers him a threat. Even now, there are whispers in the Ministry about a restraining order on Potter for "being a dangerous element to society, and threatening the well-being and lifestyle of its members". His infamous, volcanic temper has been reported more often recently, and the damage caused by his rampant magic is allowing strings to be pulled.

My readers, prepare for a war of the sort you have never seen before. A war full of subterfuge, deceit, infiltration and secrets. There will be no full out battle, no flashy clashes. It will be going on, right underneath your feet. These people are threatening the very peace that we have worked hard for, and it is our job to snatch back our vanishing victory!

Harry Potter, I was told that you would understand these phrases:

Situation Zero has been recognized, Code Alpha has been issued.

In Hogsmeade, Sirius looked on as the full moon shone intermittently.

A phoenix has flashed away successfully.

The wizard has been disturbed.

The Order of Phoenix awaits your orders, Mister Potter! May your return be as victorious as your departure!

This is Gaerdir, Special Correspondent, signing off.

Tomorrow, Britain goes to war! Let the extermination, begin!


	3. Drifter

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**Drifter**

_By Gaerdir_

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"The only thing wrong with immortality is that it tends to go on forever." - Herb Caen

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Harry sat down, his face in his hands, a small bag sitting innocuously next to him.

They had found out… _again_.

It was all nice and dandy for the first few years he stayed in a town, but as time passed on, his friends, their parents, and their kids began to realize that 'Uncle Harry' just doesn't grow older.

He had left the magical society to avoid the press attention his still youthful appearance would generate, and how, 'no doubt, he's stronger than any other wizard alive or dead, because Merlin himself seemed to age, but the Savior? He's practically immortal!' That was actually something he had quoted from the last wizard to see him almost 50 years ago, and Harry still looked the same.

He was a legend now, not a single living magical person had seen him in 49 years, so the only way kids knew about him was through folk tales and legends. Although Harry always took care to ensure no one could see him when continuing with his self-imposed job, to rid the world of Dark Lords, no matter how big or small, somehow, inexplicably, a witness would turn up claiming to have seen a 'strapping, young man, around twenty years old, with hair as black as night, and eyes the Killing Curse green.'

And those stories had only compounded to his legend as the Savior.

Harry sighed, looking at the glaringly bright empty train station, the early hour making it inconceivable for anyone with sense to be up and about. He had tried to live a quiet life, using magic as little as possible, and trying to blend in with the Muggles, trying to forget his old life.

But he was always rudely reminded of his role as the Master of Death, and the duties and curse that came along with the title.

He was no longer welcome.

He was forever relegated to the role of an observer, an immortal one, who stands separate from the River of Time and is forced to watch society crumble and rebuild in its wake. He had to deal with the pain of loss and suffering countless times, watching loved ones wither away, and the ones that replaced them suffer the same fate.

It morbidly amused Harry to think that he had achieved the one thing Voldemort had craved above all in his life: to stand separate and above all others, to be free of the frailties of the ordinary human body, to exist forever in the prime of his youth. And he had only done that by accepting and conquering the one phenomenon that Voldemort feared above all, Death.

It would have seemed counter-productive to his old nemesis, but that was the key to immortality. To possess the three Deathly Hallows, to hold immeasurable ancient power in one's hands… but be ready to throw it all away at a moment's notice to save loved ones.

Loved ones he could no longer be with, for they had aged, and he had not.

So he had made his decision.

He would harness the powers given to him by Death, and begin helping others, in places where normally he wouldn't be able to reach.

He was going to cross dimensions and universes.

Harry shouldered his bag and stood up, glancing around the empty station.

Why Fate had created such a big place when he was really the only one who could use it was beyond him.

Harry sighed, hearing the approaching whistle of a train.

This world would have to find a new Savior.

He was going to a world which actually needed one.


	4. Unleashed

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**Unleashed**

_By Gaerdir_

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"With great power comes great responsibility." - Stan Lee

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He thought it would have been obvious where he would go when it was all over.

Impregnated clouds hung over the overcast skies, adding to the poignancy of the moment. It seemed it had been decades since his last visit a few months ago. He was no longer the guilt free teenager seeking salvation from his strenuous task.

He was now a man, a man whose conscience continually pulled him down, a mental warfare whose battleground was splattered with the blood of hundreds of friends. His hands were splotched with guilt. His head, heavy with regret.

He had expected jubilance upon victory. Glee that was unattainable by any other means other than completing your one mission in life.

How naïve he had been when he was just a few short months younger.

Harry walked past the same fence, resisting the urge to touch it and witness its wondrous magic again, a testament unharmed by time. There would be time for that later.

The streets were strangely absent of any life whatsoever. No sapling grew from the odd crack in the asphalt. Bathilda Bagshot's grisly murder must have struck terror into the little village.

Bathilda Bagshot… It was strange that such an underdeveloped town could be home to events that shaped history…

Harry kicked open the gate to the cemetery. Rusty, it moved erratically before finally screeching to a halt, dangling precariously on its ancient hinges. Corrosion had eaten away the foundations of the gate. It had once been a proud entrance, Harry could tell that much. It was now reduced to a dissipating shadow of its former self. That wouldn't do.

"_Reparo!_" he intoned.

The door seemingly gained a mind of its own for a few seconds. It straightened, bringing its long broken top socket to its corresponding hinge. Metal flowed over, resealing the gate into its original position. The paint reformed, bringing alive the fence with brilliant hues that had long since faded.

It stood out, paranormal among its mundane surroundings.

Harry tested the gate, and then wiped his palms on his jeans. Glancing quickly around, he strode towards the gravestones.

Hermione wasn't with him this time. Conjuring up flowers, he gently placed them in front of his mother's and father's graves. He knelt gently in front of the white stones, on the packed soil.

"I did it," he said, pausing as though the simple statement had taxed his oratory powers.

"I did it. I killed the Dark Lord. Your murderer. This should be a time of widespread joy and celebrations. And it is." He paused. "For most people. I, Harry Potter, the Chosen One, lived up to the expectations. I rid the world of the dark plague that had been corrupting it for decades. I've ensured that the children of the witches and wizards of our day will have children with long lives. Only-" he paused again, "Only there will be fewer kids this time around."

A mourning wind blew, arousing the newly born leaves of the trees with its lamentations. The silence around Harry escalated into Nature's own orchestrated symphony.

"Maybe you know that already. I was sick of being used by Dumbledore, and I let my hot head get in the way. Rationality gave way to impulses. Impulses led to mistakes. And mistakes led to deaths. Others tell me that I am not to blame. It was Voldemort's doing that removed the innocent trainees that were yet to strike a chord in the instrument that is the universe. Through my rebellion, I doomed children of Hogwarts to horrific deaths before they could grow to fully-fledged men and women, masters in their own right. Perhaps their deaths were not my fault. Yet I still feel the weight of each one."

"Perhaps in my own way, I am just as viable to be prosecuted as any Death Eater." A humorless chuckle. "The Ministry seems to want that. Apparently, if I have political ambitions, my popularity 'may cause a severe disruption in the proceedings of the ministry.' I'm being followed, chased everywhere, no time to myself, no personal bubble to languish in."

Harry was now rubbing the dirt, penetrating its uppermost soil with his finger.

"At times I wonder, why me? Why should I be the one with my parents dead? Why should I have survived? Why couldn't I die? And suddenly Dumbledore appears in my head: 'Everything that has occurred has been pre-ordained. You are a part of a greater plan, Harry,' he says. What greater plan? Why was the manipulative old coot in my head? My friends are dead. I just want to be left alone now. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?"

Harry took a several deep breaths. "There is too much burden on me and too few by my side. Everything that has happened to me seems planned, and I intend to find out who is at the bottom of this."

_And so…_, Harry thought. _I have another mission… Perhaps it was meant to be. But meant to be according to whom?_

He suddenly wished Hermione was still alive, more than ever. She had been his level-headed friend, helping him work his way out of the shady corners of his mind…but that was fantasy, wishes that Nagini had ruined on their visit.

They had been captured and tortured, and soon the rest of the Weasley family was with them, suffering the pain of the Cruciatus a thousand times over. In his delirium, he had lost control over his tightly bound magic. He snapped to his senses, but it was too late. His magic had cried for the blood of sacrifice, and it had received it. He had fallen unconscious after the episode, but woke up to find his prison destroyed and his enemies broken.

_For Hermione… For Ron… For the Weasleys… And for Ginny… I must find out who planned this. At any cost._

_Even if the world burns. I will find out._

Unbidden, a memory of his encounter in his mind came to him.

"_There are many categories for a wizard to be in, Harry. Not many know this, as they are hardly released to the public, but the lowest category is 'magician', and the highest is 'warlock'."_

_Dumbledore took a deep breath._

"_But that is not the limit, Harry. If a wizard feels the pain of killing a loved one with his own hand, his magic unlocks a natural limitation on his potential. He becomes a Mage, Harry. And there are classifications in this type of magical being as well. I am a mere Mage, level five. You, my dear boy, through your actions tonight, have become an Archmage. The highest level of power possible, right above an Arcane Sorcerer, level one."_

"_With the sacrifice of your dearest friends and family, you have gained the power to defeat Voldemort."_

"_But you have a greater purpose, Harry. All this has been done for a reason. It has all been pre-ordained. You are part of a greater plan, Harry."_

Harry stayed silent for a while longer; fuming internally, before he stood, cloak swirling ominously.

"Whoever you are," he spat out loud, "You made a grave mistake when you messed with me and mine. Hear this, puppeteer. I will find you. I will make you pay for every death you have added to my burden. I will find out why. And then, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. You will _suffer_."

Harry's eyes glowed with restrained power, before he simply disappeared, starting his self-imposed investigation.

The world was not ready to face the full wrath of a vengeful and enraged Archmage.

But regardless of its preparedness, the world as a whole would have to hunker down, and weather the storm that was coming screaming its way.

For Merlin himself was just an Arcane Sorcerer, level one. Who knew what a teenage boy would do with such unleashed, uncontrollable power?


End file.
